Okay, Folks At Home, here's the situation. We've got two different descriptions of the Event that kicks off the whole shebang, and they're sufficiently different enough that I don't think I can weave 'em together in any readable fashion. So we've got to choose one or the other.
(The third option here is for somebody *else* to write a version superior to the ones up for a vote, which is always a possibility.)
Here's the candidates for review. First up is Dartz's version:
The clock ticked over, and something happened.
The air crackled with static electricity, a cool breeze stirring dead old leaves and discarded papers in the evening streets. In an instant bright light split the darkness, illuminating the mist like sheet lightning in the clouds of a summer storm.
For a few brief moments, it seemed as if the light was coming from everywhere at once. No shadow was cast on the ground beneath. It was an eerie instant of pan-luminescence. Dogs barked and howled madly, dashing in panicked circles, or straining at their leads to run away.
Some people of an older generation dove to the ground, ducking down against nearby walls or inside doorways, covering themselves against the expected blast. A ferry pilot off Liberty Island looked up at the Statue in front of him, illuminated in the light. In place of a torch, he could’ve sworn he saw Lady Liberty holding a sword to the sky. He blinked and it was gone, the golden torch returning. An airport worker at Boston’s Logan International thought for a brief moment that he could feel the thrumm of a distant piston engine’d aircraft spooling it’s engines up, reminding him of the time he’d seen a B17 at an airshow. The feeling passed. A docker in Seattle swore at his telephone as a call to orbit cut out. In Washington D.C. a President was startled to hear their Russian counterpart cut off mid-word. Deep inside Cheyenne Mountain, a radar operator noticed a hundred and one orbital contacts.... disappear. An operator at the Midwest ISO control centre in St. Paul was startled to find that somehow, he’d lost all generation coming in from Manitoba. He raced to keep the grid from collapsing.
A half second later, a thunderclap like God himself slamming a door in heaven rattled windows and shook light walls in framebuilt houses across the midwest. Powerlines quivered in fear while cat’s and rats and anyone with an iota of sense dived for cover. A chilling gust chased the thunder, the dying shockwave of an interdimensional explosion rippling through a hundred realities.
Then. A terrible, dreadful stillness.
And this one is mine:
The clock ticked over, and something happened.
The fog grew still, unnaturally so, as if the moisture in the air had turned to concrete. Inside the wall of mist, the few people still out on the streets could see strange lights playing inside. The lights flickered, twisted and then exploded outward, lighting up the nearby countryside for a few bare milliseconds.
There was a distant rumbling sound, like thunder heard from far away, and the fog started to melt away. Slowly at first, then picking up speed, the fog vanished, leaving behind new countryside merged together.
(High above the cloud deck, a lone weather balloon had the best seat in the house for the event. Recovered several days later, the audio recorder someone stuck on for ballast would pick up the roll of distant thunder, along with the sound of gigantic leathery wings flapping and what everybody who heard it would swear was the sound of snickering.)
In Hawaii, phone and Internet connections broke off mid-word, leaving behind puzzled users.
In Mexico, the land looked much as it always did, though the people of Villa Ocampo looked north at the new lights on the horizon and tried to figure out what this meant.
In Quebec, a Canadian engineer watched the load on his generators suddenly drop off.
A group of homeless men, gathered together for warmth on Atwater Drive in Detroit, gazed in wonder as the fog cleared and revealed gleaming towers of steel and concrete on the river’s far side.
Off the New England shore, Sam Carsten watched the stars come out and wondered.
Far out in space, the duty officer at Benjamin Franklin Station blinked as the high-security line to the 21st Space Wing in Colorado dropped out.
And elsewhere in the Solar System....
So, which one do the Folks At Home like more?
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"
(The third option here is for somebody *else* to write a version superior to the ones up for a vote, which is always a possibility.)
Here's the candidates for review. First up is Dartz's version:
The clock ticked over, and something happened.
The air crackled with static electricity, a cool breeze stirring dead old leaves and discarded papers in the evening streets. In an instant bright light split the darkness, illuminating the mist like sheet lightning in the clouds of a summer storm.
For a few brief moments, it seemed as if the light was coming from everywhere at once. No shadow was cast on the ground beneath. It was an eerie instant of pan-luminescence. Dogs barked and howled madly, dashing in panicked circles, or straining at their leads to run away.
Some people of an older generation dove to the ground, ducking down against nearby walls or inside doorways, covering themselves against the expected blast. A ferry pilot off Liberty Island looked up at the Statue in front of him, illuminated in the light. In place of a torch, he could’ve sworn he saw Lady Liberty holding a sword to the sky. He blinked and it was gone, the golden torch returning. An airport worker at Boston’s Logan International thought for a brief moment that he could feel the thrumm of a distant piston engine’d aircraft spooling it’s engines up, reminding him of the time he’d seen a B17 at an airshow. The feeling passed. A docker in Seattle swore at his telephone as a call to orbit cut out. In Washington D.C. a President was startled to hear their Russian counterpart cut off mid-word. Deep inside Cheyenne Mountain, a radar operator noticed a hundred and one orbital contacts.... disappear. An operator at the Midwest ISO control centre in St. Paul was startled to find that somehow, he’d lost all generation coming in from Manitoba. He raced to keep the grid from collapsing.
A half second later, a thunderclap like God himself slamming a door in heaven rattled windows and shook light walls in framebuilt houses across the midwest. Powerlines quivered in fear while cat’s and rats and anyone with an iota of sense dived for cover. A chilling gust chased the thunder, the dying shockwave of an interdimensional explosion rippling through a hundred realities.
Then. A terrible, dreadful stillness.
And this one is mine:
The clock ticked over, and something happened.
The fog grew still, unnaturally so, as if the moisture in the air had turned to concrete. Inside the wall of mist, the few people still out on the streets could see strange lights playing inside. The lights flickered, twisted and then exploded outward, lighting up the nearby countryside for a few bare milliseconds.
There was a distant rumbling sound, like thunder heard from far away, and the fog started to melt away. Slowly at first, then picking up speed, the fog vanished, leaving behind new countryside merged together.
(High above the cloud deck, a lone weather balloon had the best seat in the house for the event. Recovered several days later, the audio recorder someone stuck on for ballast would pick up the roll of distant thunder, along with the sound of gigantic leathery wings flapping and what everybody who heard it would swear was the sound of snickering.)
In Hawaii, phone and Internet connections broke off mid-word, leaving behind puzzled users.
In Mexico, the land looked much as it always did, though the people of Villa Ocampo looked north at the new lights on the horizon and tried to figure out what this meant.
In Quebec, a Canadian engineer watched the load on his generators suddenly drop off.
A group of homeless men, gathered together for warmth on Atwater Drive in Detroit, gazed in wonder as the fog cleared and revealed gleaming towers of steel and concrete on the river’s far side.
Off the New England shore, Sam Carsten watched the stars come out and wondered.
Far out in space, the duty officer at Benjamin Franklin Station blinked as the high-security line to the 21st Space Wing in Colorado dropped out.
And elsewhere in the Solar System....
So, which one do the Folks At Home like more?
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"